


I don't know what you've done to me, but I know this much is true:

by Sherlocked



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Pity Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-10
Updated: 2013-06-10
Packaged: 2017-12-14 12:46:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/837027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlocked/pseuds/Sherlocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>I wanna do bad things with you.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	I don't know what you've done to me, but I know this much is true:

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rerin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rerin/gifts).



> For the almighty Rerin, who won me in the AO3 fic auction!

John’s...not quite sure how it happened.

_It starts like this:_

John hasn’t gotten laid in a while, not since Sarah; he’d had plenty of girlfriends in between, but he’d never gotten past first base with any of them.

It was starting to eat away with his nerves, though. His left hand could only take him so far before he started wanting the real thing.

And, while he’d certainly entertained the possibility, John had never done it with a guy.

So, his surprise can be excused when one night the paper is ripped from his grasp and replaced by Sherlock. His protests are also replaced by Sherlock; to be specific, Sherlock’s mouth.

When Sherlock finally comes up for air, John is gaping like a fish. Sherlock rolls his eyes.

“You are getting increasingly annoying and this is the only way it will stop, foregoing the hiring of a hooker. And you wouldn’t agree to that.” 

John’s brain won’t reconnect with his mouth fast enough to interject before Sherlock’s lips are crushing his once again and a long hand is skating down his chest. 

He’s not quite sure why, when his hands clench, they aren’t around Sherlock’s arms, pushing him away, but are, instead, digging into the arm rests.

He _definitely_ doesn’t whimper at the clink of his belt, and he _really_ doesn’t know why Sherlock smirks, but John really doesn’t care when Sherlock’s hand gets _inside_ his pants.

(Later, he feels sorta stupid, because _of course_ Sherlock knows about this, because why wouldn’t he; he knows everything about John, and orgasms would count in everything. And even Sherlock would have the need to get off, right?)

Sherlock’s flicks and squeezes come (heh) just when John needs it, and, honestly, it’s embarrassing how fast he gets off. And when he does, he almost blacks out.

He feels a slight pressure on his pulse, and then Sherlock’s...gone. When John pulls himself together, Sherlock’s bustling around the kitchen working on an experiment and John’s left dazed with his boxers starting to stick to him. 

_This is how it continues:_

This satisfies John for a while, and he gets back to normal.

Then he starts getting on edge again, because he has leaky roof syndrome; it isn’t raining, so why does he have to fix it?

However, when it starts to ‘rain’ again, John is weirdly uninterested in going and fixing the problem. 

Instead, he takes a nap on the couch.

He wakes up in something warm and wet, and he blinks the sleep out of his eyes to see Sherlock’s (really pretty, now that he thinks about it) lips wrapped around him, and he holds back a groan.

(Or he tries.)

(Well, no, he doesn’t, but if asked? He _totally_ tried.)

_This is how it peaks:_

It continues, and it escalates: John has started reciprocating.

He explains it all away to himself, but he’s not sure why. It’s not like anyone knows about it, it’s not like he needs to justify it to anyone. It’s just two friends getting each other off.

(He ignores how flimsy that sounds, even in his own head)

But then, he doesn’t have to think about it when he’s slicked up and Sherlock’s lowering himself onto him.

Woah- screw _doesn’t have_ , replace _can’t_ , holy _fuck._

Sherlock’s riding him, and _god._ This is killing him, the other man is a lot tighter than he’s used to, and-

He’s not entirely sure why, but suddenly it hits him that stuff like this, Sherlock would have needed a partner to find out about.

And, honestly? John hadn’t known that he could get that... _possessive._

He doesn’t even register surging up, wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s waist, and flipping them over (or Sherlock’s extremely shocked expression), because the next thing he knows, John’s fucking his flatmate into the mattress and Sherlock looks _blissful._

_This is how it ends begins:_

It’s been going on for almost a year now, and they’re at a crime scene. It’s obvious how the victim died (blunt force trauma to the skull with something heavy and square) so John’s putting together a grocery list in his head while he follows Sherlock to wherever the victim had, “Obviously, Anderson, how are you still working here?” last been, and it hits him like a ton of bricks.

“Oh, dear lord, we’re _married_.” Sherlock turns around and raises an eyebrow back to where John is standing in the middle of the sidewalk, looking shell shocked.

“Yes,” is Sherlock’s exceedingly simple answer. John blinks; he’d been expecting more of a reaction from that.

“And you’re okay with this?” Sherlock shrugs.

“I really don’t see why it should bother me; anyway, everyone we know thought we were from the third month we started living together.” With that, Sherlock turns with a whirl of his coat. “Now, come on, John, we have a murder to solve.”

If anyone told you that John grinned besottedly before following him, it didn’t happen.

(It totally did.)


End file.
